“Seasons” by Ayumi Hamasaki lets the healing begin on my sore soles… “Kotoshi mo hitotsu kisetsu ga megutte, omoide wa mata tooku natta. Aimai datta yume to genjitsu no, kyoukaisen ha kokunatta. Sore de mo itsuka kimi ni hanashita, yume ni uso ha hitotsu mo nakatta…” [Japanese] “Another season has come round this year, and my memories have again become distant. The vague borderline between my reality and my dreams has become thicker. Even that dream, I one day told you, without lying even once…”
I haven’t laughed so much in ages. Today, as arranged, I headed out to meet H, Hal and Maria for skating at Somerset House. We had planned to do this ages ago and finally it was going to happen. Here was a conversation I had back around July/August of last year:
Me: We should go next week.
H: Yeah, good idea. I’ll round everyone up and call them up to find out times, prices, etc.
Me: Good call.
Later in the day…
H: I called them up.
Me: And…?
H: They’re closed! They do the ice rink seasonally so they’re opening again in October.
Me: Cool, we’ll pencil a day in for October.
Cut to present day. I arrived at the Embankment early and was surprised that even at around 7pm, it was very much still alive with what looked like commuters. Being early, I decided to do a few test night shots with my camera. When I got to Temple station, I noticed a familiar face on the charity worker collecting for the disabled. He used to work local to me, but was now working there. I used to remember him being at my local station in the mornings when I used to take the train to University. His monotone request to “Help the disabled, please” was unmistakable (unless he had a brother).
When I finally met H and Hal, I was told that Maria was running late today and will join us later. So, we set out to Somerset House to purchase some tickets for a later session. When we got there we were met with a sign stuck on the ticket window… “All sessions sold out.” Shock horror! I guessed we weren’t the only ones leaving it late to enjoy a spot of skating there and after checking out the size of the rink I wasn’t surprised that they were being prudent to avoid overbooking! If there was a pond underneath, there may have been a lawsuit. Skating at Somerset House suddenly started to look like one of those “could have beens,” especially since it’s going to close the coming Sunday (and that all sessions were probably sold out by now). Whilst H was doing her best to not hide her disappointment, she reached for her mobile to phone Maria and tell her what’s happened. We must have been collectively shrugging shoulders and looking as disappointed as a child finding out the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus were not real, because we got approached by a woman on the way out.
In true ticket tout style she asked directly, “Do you need tickets?” We all looked at each other, unable to fathom the scene unfolding before us. When we were able to distinguish illusion from reality again (took a good 2 seconds), we chanted in unison, “Yes, definitely,” when we really meant “Hell-yeah!” We were there and we were going to go ice skating no matter what, even at ticket tout prices. Either the woman in front of us was not a ticket tout or she had failed to read the first chapter of the ticket touting handbook (i.e. “Chapter 1: Always sell at a loss (to the punter)”) but after enquiring of her prices, she said she would sell them at face value.
“Face value,” I repeated, rephrasing it as a question. She explained that she had 4 tickets for the next session starting in approx. 15 minutes and that she had to sell them because her friends would not be able to make it, but we had already made up our minds. We verbally agreed to the sale, at those prices. She then carried out a maneouvre suggesting that she had read the second chapter of the ticket tout handbook (i.e. “Chapter 2: Never sell on the premises. Never”). She told us that she couldn’t make the sale within the grounds of Somerset House and that we’d have to purchase them outside. We weren’t really going to complain because we were going to get tickets (from some sort of half-educated ticket tout). We checked the tickets to make sure they were authentic and to make sure that they were indeed for today and for the next session. Looked good, so we made the exchange. She said that she didn’t have change, but a 50 pence markup on each ticket was something we could overlook, for we were going skating!
When we went back into Somerset House we had our path blocked by a security guard. He appeared from behind a pillar and had assumed the blocking posture as outlined in the first chapter of the security guard’s handbook (i.e. “Chapter 1: Always cross your arms. You look harder that way”). We averted our eyes to avoid eye contact, mimicking a person urgently awaiting an important life or death phonecall on their mobile phone. As we were just about to pass, he asked us if we had just bought tickets from a ticket tout. This was going to be a tricky situation. None of us were that skilled in the Jedi Mind trick so we’d have to overcome this obstacle like regular people.
Option A: Tell the security guard the truth and follow that up by playing the “pity” card.
Option B: Tell the security guard a blatant lie and insist we purchased those at an earlier time.
Option C: Plead ignorance. Play the “Me no speaky Ingerish” card.
Option D: Create a distraction, clout the guard on the head and drag him into an alley. Remove his clothes and impersonate him escorting the others onto the rink.
Now, I might have gone for option B but I had a feeling he had seen what we went through, so decided against it. By lying, it would only possibly infuriate him and have him tear up our tickets right in front of us (which might have to bring option D into play). We decided to come clean and be honest, but throw ignorance and innocence into the mix to create a well padded ruse. H said later that she was going to try saying we’re from out of town and just made our way here from Edinburgh to meet our friends here. I suggested she might have wanted to try that in combination with sliding her hand sensually up and down his torso whilst constantly maintaining a sexy wink. It might have worked, but we played daft, saying we were unaware that she was a tout.
Security guard: She was a tout.
H: We had no idea.
Me: But she sold them to us at face value. Ticket touts don’t do that.
SG: Yes, but at the end of the day she was still a ticket tout.
H: But they were her own tickets.
SG: No, they weren’t her own tickets.
H: Huh?
SG: If you read the back of the ticket, you’ll see that we own them all. It’s for us to sell and no one else. She even led you off the premises to sell them to you. You know why that is?
Time to play the “apologetic” and “understanding” card.
Me: Oh I understand now. It’s because you can’t stop her if she’s off the premises. Hey, we didn’t realise all those things. We’re really sorry, we didn’t even know this wasn’t allowed.
SG: If you purchase from ticket touts, you will get ripped off.
We played the special “look down at the ground” and “turn feet inwards” sympathy card.
SG: What I have to do now is void your tickets, which is something I’ve done with lots of people before.
In my romaticised world, my brain was screaming “Option D! Option D!” As I clenched my fist and signalled for the girls to create a diversion, the security guard continued…
SG: But I’m not going to do that. Now you know, so don’t buy from touts again. I want you to go in and have a good time tonight.
I unclenched my fist and using a secret hand signal, cancelled the request for a distraction. He escorted us to the entrance area and bid us a good evening. We got lucky this time and no flesh had to be supplied. Very lucky indeed!
The ice rink was not that big (in fact, the smallest rink I’d ever seen), but it looked really classy because of its floodlights. It had barriers all around (serving as handrails), with 2 tents flanking it. One was for the skate hire and the other was a bar, because a swift drink always helps on the ice.
The ice was more slippery than I had remembered from the last time I went skating, which must have been over 4 years ago. It didn’t help that it was drizzling rain too, which provided a surface that defied all laws of viscosity. It took a few minutes for my co-ordination and skills to return to me and after that I was skating again like I used to. I never fell over or onto my bottom, but slid on one knee after about half an hour. I decided to do a spot of speed skating and it was either sliding on one knee to slow down, or giving some random guy that appeared from nowhere an instant spinal tap. By the end of the evening the scores were:
Me: 1 (for the knee)
Hal: 2-ish
H: 10 (She was rather proud of attaining double digits)
Poor H had bruises all over and due to the rain, her overcoat was soaked all the way through. At the end when we were in the tent full of people waiting to exchange their skating shoes for their regular footwear, she accidentally broadcasted “Even my knickers are wet” over the low murmuring in the room. On the ice, she also yelled out some great lines during mid-fall such as “WOAH, WOAH,” “AHHHHHHHHH” and my favourite, “I NEED A MAN!” (which translates as “I need help”). She had bumped her head a couple of times, so was feeling a bit dizzy. I thought perhaps that might have brought her to scream those things on the ice, but after assessing her personality I shrugged the bumps off as coincidence. I never saw her bump her head but should have known from the “H shaped indent” I saw in the ice. She didn’t seem to mind the tumbling because as she said, “It’s a great way to grab blokes’ arses without seeming like a perv.” I started wondering if there was any truth to her earlier joke about having grabbed several men’s bottoms. ^_^
The funniest thing today is undisputed. I was holding her arm to steady her as she glided gingerly, really really slowly towards the handrails. Emphasis on “really really slowly,” because it was so slow, she was almost static. When she noticed a woman moving away from the barrier towards her, she yelled “AHHHHHHHHHH” as she slowly inched her way towards the woman and continued to yell this at high volume all the way to the point when she was literally face to face with the woman by no more than 6 inches. Her friends started laughing and it wasn’t long till we all detonated with laughter. It was one of those “you had to be there” moments.
At one point I noticed H was totally soaked and had racked up quite a lot of frequent-faller miles.
Me: I saw you take a harsh tumble just a moment ago. You alright?
H: I’m fine. I think I’ve broken my coccyx around 50 times though.
M: Ah, don’t worry about that. I don’t think scientists have found a purpose for our tail bone yet.
I decided to keep an eye on H and Hal, giving them a few tips and holding them upright whilst taking them past areas of the rink where groups of beginners were clustered around the handrails. Despite the pain (on H’s end), we all enjoyed themselves. The soles of my feet are still aching as I type this {Cracks open a tub of green Asian miracle wax}! For the purposes of a good time, I’ll happily go skating and this time was less painful because the skates were a nice fit (plenty of room left for the swelling) and didn’t leave any blisters like they usually do. I certainly was not cut out for a life of balancing on two thin strips of metal, but it seems H and Hal might be. They want to go again before the one in Marble Arch closes (in March) and perhaps even take some lessons. Let the healing begin.
Maria arrived after our skating session ended so we headed over for dinner at ASanje. Maria had some great news. She was going to be sent by her lab to Miami to a conference celebrating the anniversary of the discovery of DNA. In other words, it was one big party. Plus, she would be having lunch with none other than one half of the duo who discovered DNA, Dr Watson himself.
Me: Wow, so now you can finally tell him that he was the reason you got into DNA in the first place!
Maria: Yes, I’m very excited.
H: It’s Miami, so you must be taking your bikini.
Maria: Yeah, might as well get a tan.
Me: What about at the conference? A bikini might give all the old scientists there a cardiac.
Maria: Oh, they say we have to dress formally.
H: So, just like a shirt and a skirt.
Maria: I am not sure what to wear.
Me: You should wear your bikini underneath the shirt and if you’re doing doing well in getting contacts, you could start pretending that it’s getting really hot in there.
Maria: That might work!
Me: That could be your “I need funding” look. Girl power!
Extra news was that H had fallen for one of the guys she really gets along with in her workplace. She was getting all those fuzzy butterflies in her tummy everytime he was near whether that be in person or in thoughts. The only thing stopping her: he’s got a girlfriend!
On the way home, I noticed another of those new Internet phone booths in the train station.
Me: Have you ever used one of those?
H: No. Can you surf porn on those?
Me: I don’t know. I guess they would put restrictions on them.
H: What’s the point of that then?
Me: Perhaps in places like Soho they allow it.
H: Now there’s something worth researching into.
Me: You don’t suppose you could get a PhD for that kind of research?
We were waiting on the platform and an elderly man approached us, asking us which the correct train was to get to his desired station. We told him, for which he thanked us, then turned to me and said “Ni hao.” Had to tell him that I didn’t speak Mandarin or Cantonese. This kicked off a series of questions every Asian person has been asked in their lifetime, starting with “Are you Chinese?” It was still 4 minutes to go till the train would arrive, so we humoured him as he launched into a discussion about how he fought in the war, was in Burma, the Middle East, etc. He had obviously been drinking a lot of “beverages” that evening and I’m sure that if I held a lit match to his face there would have been an explosion. When the train arrived, he bid us farewell and shook our hands. As he was shaking mine, I made the mistake of not maintaining eye contact, because before I knew it, he was kissing it! Upon the realisation of an old man attempting to suction himself to my hand, I pulled away post haste! That was disgusting, but the fact that he had probably consumed enough alcohol to sterilise a bison, probably meant that my hand was disinfected at the same time.
That was the first time I had ever been kissed on the hand by a man, or perhaps those other times were too embarassing to warrant a deletion from memory. On the train, he apologised for doing that and proceeded to ask me about religion. I’m indifferent and to give it a name, a little agnostic, so he tried very hard to convert me to Christianity, but didn’t succeed before his stop (I failed to mention that I was in fact a baptised catholic despite never going to mass anymore). He was nuts and everyone on the train was watching him as he swaggered off the train. The doors closed before he could make his exit and he continued to hold the doors open to the anger of the whole carriage. “This train can’t stop me. Nothing can stop me,” he proclaimed in his drunken stupor. H had done well to stop herself from erupting into laughter throughout the whole ordeal, which was a reward in itself since she was stil in constant pain all over (she had a stitch from chronically laughing before, which was preferable to stitches from falling on the ice). We always attract weirdoes when we are out, but this was the first time one tried to “hit on me” as H so delicately put it. Just to be safe I disinfected my hand when I got home. I am never going out wearing my dark lilac jumper ever again!
Lesson of the day: Acting ignorant will get you more leighway compared with if you act smart (or normal).
